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Here is it, as promised

His 6ft 7” frame meant that he was easily able to look over all the people at the party, and spot her straight away.
She was wearing the black dress and hat that she usually wore for these occasions, but tonight she had teamed it with a bottle green cloak that shimmered as she moved under the twinkling pumpkin shaped party lights.
She saw him and smiled like a feline who had just been given a dairy treat. Slowly, she beckoned him over with a long finger nail, that was painted in the same shade as her cloak.
He moved across the room with ease, almost gliding one might say, and arriving in front of her, he took her hand and kissed it dramatically. She traced his firm jaw with the same nail, leaving a slight pink trail where it had touched him.
‘See anyone you know?’ He enquired.
‘Only the usual. Marty, Velma and little Bertie keeps popping up. As for the others, I’m not sure. When they change their disguises, I don’t recognise them as easily.’
‘Mmm…True, but talking of costumes, you look delightful my dear.’ He purred.
‘Don’t call it a costume, you know I don’t like it! Call it what it is, a fabulously splendid gown.’ She laughed loudly, almost a cackle. ‘Besides, I’m cross with you, I’ve been waiting here quite some time. I was beginning to think that you weren’t coming.’ She lowered her chin at a jaunty angle and looked at him through heavy lids.
‘Come now my love. You know how busy a night it is, I just got delayed along the way, but I would never leave you alone, on tonight of all nights. Have you had a drink? Would you like one?’
Her amber eyes sparkled, ‘Oh yes! One out of the bowl darling, you know I like those.’
‘Coming up.’
Three drinks from the punchbowl later, her pointed hat had slipped to an almost horizontal angle, and his normally incredibly pale face was flushed, and two rosy cheeks had appeared.
Someone turned the music up louder and he grimaced.
‘Uh! Why don’t we get out of here my darling?’
‘Ok, but only if we can take some of this with us’ she replied, raising her glass.
‘Well ok but remember how difficult it makes flying later.’
‘You speak for yourself.’ She cackled.
After refilling their glasses, they made their way to a bench at the bottom of the garden. It was much quieter here, and they snuggled and sipped their drinks.
‘Have you had enough?’
‘Of what,’ she enquired, ‘the drink, the music or the humans?’
‘All of them.’
‘Yes, I think I have. I can’t get used to their smell. Visiting their Halloween parties once a year is more than enough for me.’
‘In that case my love, I shall race you back home.’
And with that he dissolved into a teeny tiny bat. She clicked her fingers and her broom appeared, and they both set off home.

Enjoy whatever you’re doing tonight and look out for next month’s flash fiction idea, here tomorrow.

So! Has anyone else had a go this month…or is it just me :-( I’ve just done the final edits to my piece and I’ll be posting it here before I go out on Halloween. Feel free to do the same!

I think the theme for this month’s flash fiction competition should be…The Halloween Party. I might even try to make my entry light hearted this time!

Pop your stories here and let’s get some feedback going this month.

Here we are, my September flash fiction piece.

Obsessed

Sitting in the church, my memory started the familiar replay of everything he had put me through. He, being Mr Mills, my French teacher and my tormentor. From the day I started at secondary school, he had been obsessed with me.
My mind took me back to the detention room. It was just him and me. Nothing unusual in those days. No-one cared that a teacher and pupil were alone together. The other teachers were just glad to get away on time.
He would sit me in the middle of the room and walk around me, jeering almost, as I completed the lines he required as punishment.
‘You’ll never amount to anything’, ‘You’ll always be a failure if you don’t work hard.’ Then the accompaniment of a clip around the ear, or a flick on the back of the neck with a ruler, often came. He would lock the door, and only open it to let me free when he deemed that I had received enough humiliation.
After both of my parent’s untimely deaths, I was raised by my aunt and late uncle. I was understandably a wayward child, and I admit I was a handful, especially for a childless couple. I tried to tell them about Old Millsy but they dismissed my complaints.
‘Just try to keep out of trouble,’ they said. ‘Keep your head down and work hard.’
It didn’t even stop after I had left school. I got a job as a mechanic and the bastard even started bringing his car to the garage. He asked for me personally and would interrogated me about what I had done to his car, and why.
Then I didn’t see him for weeks. And although I should have felt relief, I felt a sense of unease.
‘I thought you would have heard,’ my aunt said, when I eventually asked her, ‘he’s had a stroke. He’s in hospital, and it doesn’t look good.
It was her who persuaded me to come today, and it hadn’t been as hard as maybe she had imagined. I had wanted to come. To make sure he was gone; get some closure I think is the phrase in vogue.
‘It’s a real shame your mum isn’t here.’ The words hit me like a thunderbolt and brought me back to the present.
‘What?!’ I whispered as loud as I thought I could get away with, staring at her.
‘Oh yes, they knew one another very well. I’m sure I’ve told you before. Your mum even asked him to keep an eye out for you, before she passed. It was just a shame that he was in France for her funeral.’
That trip that I had done everything to avoid, and the trip that I needn’t have worried about, as it coincided with my mother’s funeral.
‘Oh yes. I wasn’t surprised when you started becoming obsessed with him. Just like your mother!’
She was right I supposed. With him dead and buried, who would I obsess over now?

When I first started writing I was pretty scared of dialogue, for one thing it interrupted my beautiful passages of descriptive writing! But obviously, I pretty soon realised that I couldn’t hide from it for ever. It is still something that I have to make an extra effort with, but the following basic things have helped me.

1. Don’t write dialogue as we actually talk. By that I mean, limit using ‘erm’ and ‘ahh’ for example. This can get pretty boring to read.
2. Make every word count. Dialogue should move the story on.
3. Dialogue can be used to ‘show’ something in the story ie reveal a character. Much more effective that just using description in many cases.
4. Think long and hard before using dialect. Depending on how much you’re writing, it could get pretty laborious for the reader.
5. Limit the use of adverbs.

You could try some of these out in this month’s flash fiction challenge? Post your 500 words on the theme of Obsessions on the website for comment. Mine will be there soon.